Her: Your hair looks cute curly.

Me: Oh, thanks. I usually straighten it, but it’s naturally curly.

Her: Yeah, I thought so, because of all the little frizzies you always have.

Me: Them’s fighting words.

I didn’t really say that. But those ARE fighting words where I come from…which is twenty-something years of hating my curly hair.

I grew up with long, straight hair. Then puberty hit and BAM! Curly hair. What the hell?? I didn’t know that could even happen, and I felt totally hoodwinked. There was a brief period of time in the 80′s when curly hair was “in” and I rocked it high and proud. But other than that, I either deigned to wear it curly or else straightened it by any means necessary–home straighteners, 5-hour Japanese treatments, flat irons, and even regular old clothes irons (cringe). For years and years I fought my curly hair and cursed my dad, who’s curly hair made for some amazing afro’s back in the day, but seriously? What kind of Asian has naturally curly hair? Had to be MY dad.

During the periods that I actually made an effort to embrace my hair, I tried gels (made my hair too crunchy) and mousse (not enough hold) and even coconut oil (hello jheri curl!). Whatever I tried just didn’t work for me. But then I came across this post a couple of months ago, which led me to this book, and now I finally, finally love my curly hair. I just needed to learn the tricks of other curly girls. Now that I’m in the know, my hair is much more low-maintenance than when I was straightening it. Though Lily and Steve might tell you otherwise after my repeatedly admonishing, “Back up! Don’t touch my hair when it’s wet!” or “There is no play brushing/romantically running your fingers through curly hair!” Because, you know, the “f” word. Which, when it happens, is usually followed by THE “f” word.

———-

Bro: Guess what?

Niece: What?

Bro: Auntie’s pregnant!

Niece: Really?? Cool!

Me: Yeah, I have a little baby growing in my stomach.

She looks down.

Niece: Oh look! I can already see the bump!

Me:…Yeah…looky there.

I decided not to mention that the baby was probably only the size of a bean at that point.

———-

Steve: One day we’re going to have flying cars–that’s crazy!

Me: How do you know we’re going to have flying cars?

Steve: Because they’ve showed it.

Me: They have?? Where?

Steve: Ummm…the Jetsons?

Me: That’s where you get your information? The Jetsons?

———-

“Good morning, Lily! It’s your baptism day!”

“Hey, do you think they can baptize the grumpiness out of her?”

“I think you’re getting mixed up with exorcisms.”

“Oh. Well, can we get that instead?”

———-

The other day I was feeding Lily lunch, waiting for Steve to get home from work so I could leave to work. When he walked through the door…

Me: Finally! Come get your daughter so I can go.

Him: Calm down, you’re not even ready yet.

Me: Uh, yes I am.

Him: Oh. I thought you were still in your pajamas.

Perhaps it’s time to get a new wardrobe.

———-

Picture this. We’re at church, Steve’s holding Lily, Lily’s trying desperately to jump into my arms, I’m trying desperately to ignore her.

Lily (grabbing for me): Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! DADDY!

Surrounding Church-Goers: The hell?

Lily calls me Daddy. All day, every day, and it confuses everyone. I try to teach her to call me mommy.

Me: Say “mommy.”

Her: ?

Me: Ma-ma-ma-ma-mommy.

Her: Ma-ma.

Me: YES! You did it! Say it again! Who am I?

Her: Daddy!

———-

Him: I’m going out to check the mail.

Me: OK.

A few moments later…

Him: Hey, how come our grass is like that?

Me: Like what?

Him: Come look.

There are some weird swirly patterns in our knee-high grass.

Me: How weird.

Him: How did it get all flat like that?

Me: How should I know?

Him: Scary. It’s like those crop patterns.

Me: Yeah, the aliens are trying to tell us to mow our lawn already.

———-

Mommy: What does a cow say?

Lily: Mooooooooo!

Mommy: What does a cat say?

Lily: Meee-oooooow!

Daddy: What does rooster say?

Lily: Cok-doo-dooooooo!

Mommy: What does a Daddy say?

Lily (pretending to sleep): Zzzzzzzzzz!

Daddy: Oh yeah? Lily, what does a Mommy say?

Lily (flapping her hands like a mouth): Blah, blah, blah.

Yes, we teach her these things like she’s our little puppet.

Then , I tried to stump her.

Mommy: What does a snuffleupagus say?

She put her finger up to her mouth for a moment, deep in thought. Then her eyes lit up.

Lily: Muah!

Haha! She thought I said snuffleupa*kiss*! Smarty pants.

V-Day 2012

My gift to him (so fitting)

His gift to me (tiny cross)

I wanted to be a little festive for Valentine’s Day. But I don’t do hearts. I don’t do pink or red, or color of any kind, really. But a bit of tulle I can do. I love me some Vera Wang.

Him: Any gift ideas of what you want for Valentine’s Day?

Me: Not really. You?

Him: Nope.

Me: I have an idea! Why don’t we set a $20 limit and make each other gifts?

Him: Nah. That’s too much work. I’d rather buy you something.

Me: Yeah. Me too.

Him: Oh, good.

Me: I can already tell this is going to be the most AWESOME Valentine’s Day ever!

This year isn’t faring much better. Steve’s trying, in vain, to get some last minute reservations right now as I type. At this rate, we’ll have a romantic candlelit dinner over a couple of Jumbo Jacks like we did back in ’03. True story. But that fiasco had less to do with laziness on our part and more to do with best laid plans going awry. You see, what had happened was, I surprised Steve with an impromptu trip to LA. On the evening of Valentine’s Day, we thought it’s be cool to drive down Sunset and try to spot celebrities before heading to dinner. We ended up spending hours inching along that damn street with nary even a D-Lister in sight. By the time we made it through that nightmare, we were grumpy, starving and grumpy. Our romantic V-Day dinner ended up being Jack in the Box back in the hotel room.

That’s the thing. I love Valentine’s Day, I really do. But there’s just so much pressure to do it up big. We used to go all out–scavenger hunts, homemade gifts, brand name gifts, decorating cars, decorating entire rooms. But you start running out of original ideas after ten years. I think I’ve bought him every Kenneth Cole accessory ever made, save dressy socks. And there’s only so many times he can send me on a scavenger hunt before it loses it’s affect. I actually told him to not get me anything this year, which hurts bad because I love me some gifts. However, I’ve recently come to the realization that holidays have become more about the gifts than the celebrations for me. Any and every holiday was just another 14 carat golden opportunity to cross something off my wish list. Also? Since he shops directly from my wish list, and since we share 100% of our finances, I realized that I was basically buying my own gifts. Romantic, no?

As much as it pains me to know a little velvet box won’t be making any appearances tonight, I know it’s for my own good, and I look forward to focusing on our relationship and not what on what he may or may not be hiding in his Kenneth Cole man bag I got him three V-Days ago. What I would really love is to forgo the pressure to have the Most Romantic Valentine’s Day Ever and just order in, watch a romantic comedy and cuddle up on the couch. Just the two of us…that’s what it should be about.

Don’t think I won’t be trying to snoop around for hidden gifts, though. Even when it’s not a special occasion, I’m always talking about, “Why did you bring your bag in the restaurant? What’s in there? Do you have a surprise for me??” And he’s like, “Calm down, woman. It’s just my allergy medicine.” I need help.

It’s funny how much a cute outfit can elevate your mood. Leopard flats make me happy when skies are gray. Even though they provide absolutely no protection whatsoever against the elements and my feet are like blocks of ice inside.

Working on the Artists Way course. Going on Artist Dates, like to the thrift store, digging up treasures from my childhood. Doing my weekly tasks, like playing with DIY projects.

Spending a lot of time with family. Particularly, getting Lily ready for her first ever day of school! I think she started a blog about her adventures.

Hanging out with people who inspire and motivate me…in art, in health, in life. I’m so blessed with amazing friends.

Observing the world around me. Enjoying life. Breathing. Letting my soul catch up with my body.

It really has been a nice little break. But I’m also glad to be back here. I missed it.

I wonder what else they see when we’re not looking.

Somehow this OCD has passed and I no longer have to spend five minutes setting my alarm clock each night. Which is a good thing, except now I am late to work every morning. Though that habit has died, other neuroses remain. Small ones, like if someone moves the stapler on my desk. All the while they’re talking to me, I’m counting the seconds until they leave so I can move it back. Then there are bigger ones, like the time I almost lost it on a plane because everyone was sucking up all the air! But for the most part, I think I can pass as normal.

About this time last year, though, I really did go a little crazy. Or, at least I thought I was. Life was getting a little overwhelming, and the way I handle stress is to internalize it, avoid it and push myself harder to get past it. Not the best laid plan, I realized as my internal stress materialized into external panic attacks. Did you know that panic attacks have a way of making you feel like you’re about to die or go crazy? For real. Your heart pumps so hard and so fast that you think you’re having a heart attack. Then the doctor tells you that your heart is perfectly fine, that you’re just suffering from panic attacks and anxiety disorder. You only half believe him, so now you’re walking around, paranoid about your heart exploding, and feeling crazy because you’ve been told you have a “disorder.” The good news is that over the past year I didn’t die or go crazy. Not any more crazy than I already am, anyway. I’ve worked hard at removing unnecessary stress from my life and trying to maintain a healthy work/play balance. Still, every now and then I feel the crazy starting to bubble beneath the surface–on a particularly hard day when work is annoying and the toddler is clingy and the husband expects me to cook or take a shower or some other nonsense. But I’ve gotten pretty good at taking a time out as soon as I feel that anxiety creeping up, and so far I’ve kept the panic attacks at bay. But should one appear, I’m more prepared to face it.

My doctor told me to try and remember that panic attacks last about 10-15 minutes tops, and that I just need to ride ‘em out. He said that panic attacks are basically a fight or flight adrenaline rush, and that the body’s adrenaline naturally starts to burn out after 10 or 15 minutes. But that’s for a healthy, fit person. Apparently adrenaline burns out quicker the less fit you are. My panic attacks last  approximately 3.1 seconds, give or take a tenth of second. I’m not exaggerating. So basically that means I’m exceedingly out of shape.

Never before have I been so grateful for my fat ass.